The First Time
by JazzyLittleMonster
Summary: CollinsAngel random oneshot, because everyone else was writing such sad fics. This one's not AU for once! Very selfexplanatory.


_Author's Note: I know I've got a few multi-chap fics waiting to be updated! But everyone was writing such sad fics, I needed to put a happy one out there, just to keep the balance! I don't own RENT stuff. If anyone hasn't seen/listened to Spring Awakening yet, DO IT! It is gorgeous and if you love or even like RENT, you will adore it. And Happy Chanukah to any Jewish readers._

* * *

The First Time

She'll always remember the first time. He says he does too but he was so drunk and stoned she knows he can't possibly remember it all, every perfect detail, like she can. (Though she always enjoys it when he tries to re-enact it to prove to her that he does remember.) She'll remember it 'til the day she dies; on the day she dies, one of the very last frames that flickers in the infinite second when her eyes close as Collins is kissing her and swearing his undying love. It's as clear then as it was: sharpened senses, a softness, but with tension.

He's sprawled on her couch, long legs dangling off the end, his boots and socks disgarded on the floor. She likes that he took his socks off because her boots and tights are off too and she's lying lazily on top of him so that their toes fit together and they occasionally play with each other's as they talk. They tell their life stories. That was how she could tell he was still drunk, from the way he told his. Not that she minded in the least, he was an adorable drunk, but she'd made sure not to drink too much because she knew she'd want to remember tonight.

When the conversation comes to a natural pause, she lifts her head from his chest and their eyes meet and she knows it's now. She pulls his silly knit cap off gently and smoothes it and folds it reverently; he watches her with half focussed eyes and a dopey smile. Then she carefully removes her wig and reaches behind his head to place them both together on the coffee table there. When she settles back on his chest, he brushes her shaved head with his big warm hands and she closes her eyes and the next thing she knows his mouth is on hers warmer, wet, sloppy in the urgency as she feels herself pulled into him, as tight and as close as she can be. This is the safest place in the world. One bear-sized arm is wrapped around her body, keeping it flush with his, the other strokes her face and short hair, making her feel cherished. She's only known Collins 48 hours, yet this is the safest place in the fucking world and she's melting over him, out of control like she's never been before.

He flips her so he's on top, covering her. He can't be that out of it now, she must've woken him up, because his eyes are sparkling and alive. Just his face makes her stomach flip. She doesn't notice him undoing her buttons, but now she sees he's doing his own, so she fumbles to help him, breathing erratically. He stops her, linking their fingers together and then scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom. He knows where it is; he's been there before. She remembers as he lowers her onto the gold and turquoise chiffon decorating her bedspread the fantasies she had about him the night she rescued him, scrunched in a ball sleeping in the big chair in the other room. This is so much better than those fantasies because it's real. Heartbeats and breath and touching and the bits you can't predict in fantasies, like when he mumbles "Fuck the buttons" in a low rumble and pulls his shirt straight over his head.

Skin touching feels so right. Where has he been? Why did it take him so long to get here? And then his mouth moves down between her legs and there's no clothing left and the sweet powerful sucking, his fat lips kissing it, intense feeling pulses there and she can't stand it. She's never received pleasure before. He knows this; she told him earlier, and that's why he's doing it. He's a sweetheart, he's her lover, her very own Tom Collins. Forever and ever, this time, this one will work, she knows it, in a place even deeper than the waves of pleasure now penetrate, making her shudder. She wants to watch him but she can't keep her eyes open; she links their fingers and squeezes so he knows. The haze that descends as she comes down from orgasm stays until they shower the next morning. So from then on it's a blur; joining, moving, kissing, climaxing, and the holding afterwards. Maybe she really is a girl inside, because the holding was the best part. The safest place in the world.


End file.
